


That's an ugly tie, you should take it off

by Pansexualweirdo



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e13 Face Off, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Just A Lotta Tension, M/M, Missing Scene, Nicotine Patches, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Relationship, Season/Series 04 Spoilers, Self-Esteem Issues, Takes place after Jesse's Questioning, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, implied mutual pining, switching POVs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29829492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pansexualweirdo/pseuds/Pansexualweirdo
Summary: Excerpt from work: “Oof!” huffs Saul as Jesse near pounces on him with a hug, arms snaking around his neck. He’s suddenly taken aback, unused to any other gestures of gratitude than handshakes at his line of work. Of course, Jesse isn’t hugging him to thank him for a job well done, not really. That’s initially why Saul came here, yes, but it doesn’t have to be what he leaves for.OR: Jesse tells Saul about Casa Tranquila and Saul leaves to meet up with Walter, but then he comes back to the police station to keep Jesse company. An added scene to make me feel better and to fill the hole in my heart that Breaking Bad has left. :)
Relationships: Jimmy McGill | Saul Goodman & Jesse Pinkman, Jimmy McGill | Saul Goodman/Jesse Pinkman
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	That's an ugly tie, you should take it off

**Author's Note:**

> Switches from Jesse's and Saul's POV throughout, it should be easy enough to follow. This is my first work for the fandom, so I'd be super grateful for any feedback and/or kudos! Thank you and enjoy your read. <3

If you ask a couple of Average Joes what the most boring place in the world is, chance is you’ll get answers like the hospital, retirement homes, libraries or Atlanta, USA. If you ask Jesse for his top 10 on boring places, he’d just gesture to the interrogation room he was currently rotting away at. There are four dull, cement gray walls around him, whereas one of them’s got a locked door and a window where blinds are drawn from the outside. The floor is the same atrocious gray color as the walls and there’s no furniture inside save for a table and a couple of chairs. Next to the table, there’s a small camera mounted on a stand, and Saul’s suit jacket is draped over it. He must have forgotten it on his way out, just a while ago.

The minutes that trickle by feel more like hours to Jesse, who keeps pacing the room anxiously, waiting to be let go. The only reason he’s in here in the first place is ‘cause he couldn’t keep his big mouth shut to Andrea about the Ricin. He knows it was a bad idea to mention it, he isn’t as much of an idiot as his partner makes him out to be, but he was panicked; and if he could help speed the doctors’ process with Brock up even by the slightest margin, it would be worth it. Yet, in spite of his good intentions, he’s now an indefinite suspect in the poisoning of a kid who he cares for as much as his own little brother.

Jesse’s bored out of his mind. At least when Saul was here, he had someone to ball ideas with, something to look at that wasn’t these bland walls. But he supposes that’s the idea of a place like this; for it to be as excruciatingly boring as physically possible. That way, any suspect in his right mind would rather confess to his crimes than have to spend a minute longer in the room. Of course, Jesse can’t even know if he’s guilty of having part in Brock’s poisoning yet. If he finds out he _is_ , he’ll reap what he has sown, of that he will make sure.

When drumming his fingers on the table and finding shapes in the specks on the floor has gotten old, Jesse casts an accusing glance to the lawyer’s blazer, still draped over that camera. Because where else would it be? It’s not like it can grow legs, kick the door to the room down and flee the place. Though Jesse figures he can hope. That clothing article is only a vast memory of one of Jesse’s biggest problems, namely the man who owns it.

Lately, as if Jesse doesn’t already have a family that is far more than he deserves, as if his greedy mind finds it inadequate, it has decided to occupy itself with thoughts of Saul Goodman. Or Jimmy Mcgill, or whatever the fuck his name is. And not in brief, fleeting mentions that come and go, either, no; but entire, detailed soliloquies. Soliloquies that Jesse can’t begin to wrap his mind around. They’re too complex for him to untangle, and furthermore, he doesn’t _want_ to untangle them. After all, he’s got all he could ask for with Andrea and Brock, he’s happy.

So then _why?_ Why **him?**

Now he glares at the man’s jacket like it has personally offended him. He walks up to it, and against his better judgement, he lifts one of its sleeves up to his face and buries his nose in the fabric. Takes a deep breath. He half-expected it to be laced with tacky perfume, so that he would grimace, drop it and get to the other side of the room. Instead, what hits the junkie’s nostrils is a breath of fresh air from the outside, a vague trace of cigarettes (not necessarily smoked by the man himself), and a distinct, personal musk, one whose name it belongs to is already on Jesse’s mind.

“Fuck,” he grits out between clenched teeth, drawing a sharp breath through his mouth. His eyes flutter shut and a heat pools low in his stomach, strong and infuriating. He walked right into this trap, and now, he’s not gonna get out. Not unless anyone comes in, right at this moment.

But the room remains quiet, unchanging, and Jesse remains standing here, inhaling a jacket sleeve like it’s the finest batch of crystal he _or_ his work partner has ever made. He doesn’t lift the jacket from its place, covering a police-owned camera, but he doesn’t let go of the sleeve, and doesn't raise his head from it either. He lets the scent fill his lungs, repeats it, and savors the feeling it brings him; this feeling of placation and safety. The underlying, unspoken _want_ that stirs deep within him. No way is he addressing that. Not now. If he can just have this, that will be enough. 

* * *

Saul Goodman is now an accessory to a man who’s going to attempt murder. The murder of three other, very bad, no-good, evil men, but a murder all the same. Passing on just one address and some information from Jesse to Walt is all it takes for the lawyer to be connected to them and their plan. But it’s not as if he was completely disconnected to the two men from the beginning. In fact, he isn’t really surprised that _this_ is what being hogtied and threatened in the desert led him to.

Saul assures himself, however, that the execution of Gustavo Fring truly is the best outcome of this situation. The man clearly has it coming, too, with everything he has done. And Saul would rather save two of his own clients, not entirely for reasons related to money, than a psychotic, fried chicken-selling meth-dealer.

After having watched one of said clients take off in his car, driving so fast the gravel under his wheels went flying, Saul took a respite for himself to gather his thoughts. When taking this job, he never expected anything like this to happen once during his whole career. But he signed up for it himself, so he’ll try to pick up the pieces. And now that he’s done what he can for Walter, there’s a kid in a police station he needs to tend to.

Well, _need_ is a strong word. Jesse’s going to be let go when the tox screen results come back, and he can surely entertain himself until then, but Saul doesn’t feel like leaving him alone. Not in the state he was in. The expression he wore on his face, that barely-keeping-it-together clenching of teeth and fists and quick rise and fall of his chest… It would be cruel to let Jesse deal with his emotions all by himself. So Saul gets into his car, fixes his tie and meets his own reflection in the rearview mirror. “Alright, let’s do this,” he tells himself, a vote of faith, and puts the pedal to medal, dirt and dust rising outside the windows as he takes off down the road. 

* * *

Before he enters the interrogation room, he hooks a finger in the slats of the blinds and opens it up to check on the hostage held inside; just to make sure he doesn’t catch him at a bad time, so to speak. The light from the corridor casts stripes upon Jesse, who’s sitting in the chair Saul left him in, looking up from his lap at the movement in the window. This fine mix of shock and relief shows in his expression before he schools it into a frown, and Saul stifles a snicker, sending him a friendly wave through the glass before heading on inside.

“Hello again to you too, kid. Didn’t expect to see me again so soon, huh?” he greets, met by a scoff.

Giving a shrug of indifference, Jesse replies: “Not exactly”, but then he worries his bottom lip between his teeth, as if trying to keep himself from asking. But Saul urges him on with a hand gesture, and only then, Jesse cracks.

“So did you do it? Is it happening?” He’s referring to Walter’s plan, that much is given, despite him being nondescript as he knows they’re being monitored. _Smart_ , Saul thinks and smiles to himself. He’s noticed that most people just assume the kid’s no good in the brain-department, often because of the _drugs_ , but he’s brighter than they give him credit for. Much like some thought Saul a fraud or a joke in the start of his career because of his informal way of speaking. Huh. Guess he and Jesse’s got something in common.

With enough to worry about already, considering his girlfriend and her sick kid, Saul wants to placate Jesse. He spares him from his usual spiel and beating around the bush and nods. Basks in the sigh of relief from the other. “It is. It should be over soon enough,” he promises. Takes a seat opposite to him across the table.

One look at the man tells Saul all he needs to know about his mental state. There’s more baggage beneath his eyes than a family with ten children going on a hiking trip. He can’t have slept much in days, if not _weeks_. Traces of swelling and cuts show on his knuckles, and the second Jesse catches Saul gazing at them, he buries them in his pant pockets. But Saul has already connected the dots. Walter had a bandage on his nose, and only days earlier, he was bruised up pretty good. So they got into a fight. And by the state of Jesse’s fists, the kid won.

But Saul isn’t scared of him. Not because Jesse can’t be intimidating, but because he wouldn’t hurt anyone without just cause. Walter can be… harsh to him, to put it lightly. Saul’s sure the old man deserved it, and that was that. It wasn’t his business, anyway.

“So why _are_ you back? To keep me company?”

“Sort of.”

“Well, maybe this comes as a news flash to you, but I don’t _want_ your company. I’m doing fine on my own,” responds Jesse, half a snarl. It’s obvious he’s on edge, both from being questioned and from waiting for a result from the doctors, and Saul doesn’t blame him. He’s probably thinking Saul’s patronizing him, as well, as Jesse seems used to such treatment. Saul’s gotta go about this from a different angle, he muses and checks his wristwatch. God, how is Jesse not scratching at the walls or dead asleep at this point? “Look,” he starts, recognizing the tiredness in blue eyes, and his heart lurches in sympathy for him. “You’ve been in here for four and a half hours already, Jesse. That’s, like, nine episodes of It’s a Living. And I don’t know which is a worse way to spend the time.”

Jesse shoots him a look that says: _‘What the fuck are you on about?’_ and Saul exhales around a chuckle, shaking his head as he’s promptly reminded that his client is only 25 years young. Moreover, he’s been through more in those 25 years than anyone should in a lifetime. And there is most definitely _more_ , too, that Saul doesn’t know about.

“It’s an, uh- sitcom from the 80s. Anyway, I digress, my _point_ is; you might not want company right now, but you sure could _use_ it. I'm your lawyer, but I’m not charging you for this.”

“How generous of you,” Jesse quips, scratching at his wrist. Saul offers him a small grin. He continues: “I mean that I have no malintent behind coming back, I’m not trying to wrench anything out of you. I’m just here in support. We don’t even have to _talk_ , we can just sit here, too.”

That seems to help Jesse relax, the tension in his shoulders fading a bit. He scratches at his other wrist now, taps the pads of his fingers together. Saul figures it’s abstinence, but from what drug he doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t push.

With a heady sigh that sounds an awful lot like giving in, Jesse finally lifts his head and meets his eyes for the first time since Saul left to meet Walter. He shrugs his shoulders. “Screw sitting around. I’ve done enough of that,” and Saul nods his agreement. Jesse looks down at his hands, and Saul sees they’re trembling, just slightly. “Cigarettes. Haven’t had one all day,” Jesse explains, tone remorseful. Saul weighs his options for a moment. Searches his pocket. Bingo! He’s still got a few patches left.

He offers two to Jesse. When he doesn’t take them, he sighs and grabs a gentle hold of his right arm himself, removing the peel on them to place them on the underside of his lower arm. His skin is soft and warm beneath his fingers, and Saul finds himself lingering a touch longer than necessary. He speaks low in the space between them: “Nicotine patches. Been trying to quit smoking for a couple of weeks. But they do help,” smoothing over the patches with a thumb. Jesse nods. It’s a stuttered movement.

“You know how they feel about cigarettes in custody…”

* * *

When Saul lets go of Jesse’s arm, it feels cold. He was so gentle, too. Jesse pokes at the patches, wonders if they’ll work. He hopes so, he’s a wreck. He doesn’t know how ‘they’ feel about cigarettes in custody, but he doesn’t let the lawyer know that. Doesn’t want him treating him like everyone else does; like he’s completely clueless.

So Saul’s a smoker, too. Probably just that, and not an addict, like Jesse. Still, it tells him the smoke he caught a whiff of on Saul’s blazer was indeed from him.

Speaking of his blazer...

“You left this here,” he says, lifting it from atop the camera to hand to Saul, who hasn’t noticed it or simply ignored it. Saul takes it and drapes it over the back of his own chair, closing the cap on the camera to ensure more privacy.

Oh. It had a cap.

“Ah, the _real_ reason I came back!” Saul jokes, and it’s so stupid that a smile tugs at the corners of Jesse’s mouth. He’s worried sick for Brock, and _this guy_ is who manages to cheer him up. Even if it’s just a small amount.

 _Bastard_ , he thinks and clears his throat, eager to change the topic from the damn jacket. Else he’ll slip up and accidentally let the man know he’s touched it. And he’d rather not have to deal with the consequences of _that_. “So we can’t talk business here… right?” he asks instead, hoping the warmth on his cheeks isn’t visible. Saul looks around, presumably for other cameras, and Jesse notes that his tie is loose. “Mm, no, we shouldn’t. I have an office, you’re welcome to visit any time. Well, any time we’re _open_.”

“I might do that,” Jesse replies, stares at the white-blue stripes on Saul’s tie. He’s not a God of fashion himself, not in any way of the word, but that striped tie, with that turquoise dressing shirt? Well, it’s a _choice_.

Then again, Saul’s a flashy TV lawyer, and he is wearing a suit, so at least he has some sense of dress etiquette. _Questionable_ dress etiquette, but it’s an etiquette.

“You look like you’re going to devour me. Jesus, kid, you’ve been in here less than half a day and you’re already considering cannibalism?” Saul laughs. _Shit_. He caught him staring.

Jesse quickly averts his eyes, huffing out an indignant sound of frustration. It’s warm in the room, and there aren’t even any heat fans in it. Saul adds, teasing: “I did give you two nicotine patches. They not working?”

“Your tie. It’s ugly as shit,” Jesse blurts, as if in defense. No need for the lawyer to think he’s interested in him just ‘cause he looked at him for a second, even if there’s a hint of truth in that statement. And his tie _is_ ugly, so it’s perfectly fine for Jesse to tell Saul. He’s doing him a favor, really.

But Saul doesn’t look convinced. He places a hand on his chest and gasps in mock-offense. “Excuse me? This is a hundred percent italian silk, over a hundred bucks worth!” he rambles, and it’s hard to tell if he’s serious about that.

“Well, bad investment.”

It’s too warm in here, and Saul’s pinning Jesse to his chair with his eyes alone. It’s as if he’s being interrogated all over again. So Jesse raises from his seat and rounds the table, more comfortable looking Saul down than sitting across from him. Only Saul doesn’t lose face, rather the _opposite_ , as he stands up, too, looking him straight in the eye and challenging him: “Why don’t you get rid of it then, if it bothers you so much?”

At his suggestion, Jesse blinks, takes a step back. He didn’t quite expect that.

He watches on in fascination and something he can’t and _won’t_ pinpoint that surges through his body as Saul breaks, scratching at his neck. The color on his face darkens and his gaze flickers from wall to wall, as though he’s observing a tennis match. “Actually, that didn’t come out great, let me rephrase myself…” but he trails off when Jesse reaches a hand out and unties the knot on his tie, before he can even register the thought. Saul swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he does, and Jesse bites the inside of his cheek as he undoes the last part of the knot. _There’s no turning back now,_ he thinks and pulls on one end of the tie until it comes off his neck. He feels the fabric beneath the pads of his fingers, looks down at it in astonishment. _What the fuck did he just do?_

“Well,..” breathes the lawyer; chuckles once, humorlessly. “I-I didn’t actually think you would do it, I guess I underestimated you,” he admits after a beat and an intake of breath. Jesse can’t look up at him, too busy worrying about his face burning up and his heart beating at the pace of a hummingbird’s wing flaps. The last statement Saul made carries an underlying meaning, one that’s unspoken but that both men catch. He wasn’t _just_ talking about the tie...

Jesse strokes the thin end of the tie thoughtfully in his hand. It truly is an ugly tie. His eyes drift to the floor, where the tips of black and ridiculously shiny loafers edge closer to his own, torn sneakers. He looks back up to find the lawyer’s face a few, feeble inches away from his. They’re so close their breaths mingle together into one. Jesse presses his lips together into a thin line. When Saul speaks, it’s in a quiet murmur, low and intimate, just meant for Jesse’s ears. “Next you’re gonna tell me my suit’s hideous, too, hmm?”

 _This is bad,_ Jesse thinks as he holds unwavering, green eyes with his, as he exhales a shaky sigh. He’s hit over the head with the bat that is reality and puts some distance between them, reminding himself they’re being monitored. He’s got a girlfriend, and her kid is hospitalized. They _need_ him. Jesse can’t be selfish right now. He just can’t.

He hears the regret in his own voice when he stammers out a weak: “C- Cameras,” and rubs a hand over the back of his head. All of a sudden, he misses having hair to tug at. The silk tie in his grip is crumpled up in a fist when Saul clears his throat, contrition twisting his expression. “Right. Cameras,” he repeats, put out, and Jesse is overcome with a need to compromise, to meet him halfway. To prove that this attraction isn’t one sided. He doesn’t owe Saul anything, and he can’t _kiss_ him, but he can still **hug** him. So he does. 

* * *

“Oof!” huffs Saul as Jesse near pounces on him with a hug, arms snaking around his neck. He’s suddenly taken aback, unused to any other gestures of gratitude than handshakes at his line of work. Of course, Jesse isn’t hugging him to thank him for a job well done, not really. That’s initially why Saul came here, yes, but it doesn’t have to be what he _leaves_ for. The first genuine laugh he’s had all day escapes him as he returns the hug, his arms coming around the other’s, slimmer frame. Jesse holds onto him tight, almost as if he would disappear at any given moment. Saul can feel the shoulder blades poking through Jesse’s shirt, and he sucks in a breath, realizing that he wants to protect this kid, no matter what.

And he _knows_ that it won’t be an easy task. He’ll probably end up endangering himself (more than he already has) and even putting his job on the line, but he doesn’t care. If he can keep Jesse from getting himself killed, or getting killed by _someone else_ , that’s better than any payment he can get from his clients. Jesse’s not helpless, far from it, he proves that every day, but anyone in his situation, anyone with his _acquaintances_ ; they could use the protection. So Saul swears to himself under his breath that he’ll keep Jesse safe, at all costs.

They stand here, in a monitored interrogation room hugging, for several minutes, and Saul can’t bring himself to pull away with Jesse’s arms locked around his neck, toying with the strands of his hair between his fingers. Jesse rests his head on Saul’s shoulder and this prompt surge of _want_ goes through him. “You’re killing me here, kid,” he groans as Jesse clings onto him, slotting a leg in between his thighs, and the sadistic fuck snickers in answer to that.

Ruining their particularly cozy moment is a cop coming in through the door, clearing his throat and telling Jesse he’s free to go. Saul starts to pull back, not a hundred percent comfortable with their audience, but Jesse keeps him close by pulling his tie back around his neck. He ties it like a ribbon, tongue peeking through rows of teeth in concentration. “You don’t know how to tie a tie, do you?” ribs Saul, to which Jesse gives him a cheeky grin.

“Shut up. And keep wearin’ ugly ties, yo. They suit you,” he says, voice filled with affection, before he makes an exit, and Saul has never felt complimented by an insult before, but there’s a first for everything, after all. The cop who came to release them has this dead-pan look on his face, but Saul simply shrugs, ties his tie properly, and bids him goodbye before stepping out of the room.


End file.
